


The Demons Inside

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22669921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: They each had their coping mechanisms, each knew how to deal with whatever they needed to deal with, when the demons in their head demanded attention. For BA, it was an entirely unnecessary oil change and filter check, for starters, or even a complete engine overhaul, just as he was doing now. No music, no radio, just hard work and engine grease to silence his demons.
Relationships: B. A. Baracus & Templeton "Faceman" Peck, Templeton "Faceman" Peck/John "Hannibal" Smith
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	The Demons Inside

Head buried deep under the hood of his beloved van, contentedly up to his elbows in engine parts and oil, BA almost missed the soft sound of the garage door opening and almost immediately clicking closed again. He sighed mentally, resigning himself to being dragged away from his peaceful haven by the crazy fool or one of his other equally crazy teammates, but when no voice was immediately forthcoming, he lifted his head cautiously to see just who his intruder was, a glare already fixed in place to terrify them away.

But when he laid eyes on Face, he let his glare drop immediately and tilted his head slightly in question instead, one eyebrow raised. Face was already halfway across the garage, heading for the battered old sofa BA had rescued from the sidewalk years earlier, moving quickly yet quietly on cat-like feet. 

Face very deliberately was not making eye contact, and he kept his head down as he walked.

Ah. It was like that, then.

BA simply took in everything at a single glance before turning back to his van, leaving Face to continue his journey in silence. No words were necessary between the two of them, this was simply the way it went sometimes, and BA knew his role. It was a measure of great trust that Face came to him when he felt like this. 

Face was dressed in his favourite jogging pants and a well-worn grey t-shirt that BA could swear used to belong to their colonel, with his running shoes laced on his feet. But the thunder rolling overhead, growing louder every minute, and the steady patter of raindrops landing heavier and heavier on the tin roof of Hannibal’s garage – BA’s workshop, truthfully, for years now – meant there would be no run for the Faceman this afternoon.

Their LT was crazy, in his own way, but he wasn’t stupid. And he wasn’t long out of the hospital either; there were still thin bandages around his belly, BA knew, hidden beneath the shirt, though Face had been cleared for light duties only yesterday.

They each had their coping mechanisms, each knew how to deal with whatever they needed to deal with, when the demons in their head demanded attention. For BA, it was an entirely unnecessary oil change and filter check, for starters, or even a complete engine overhaul, just as he was doing now. No music, no radio, just hard work and engine grease to silence his demons.

Murdock tended to drown his out rather than silence them, part of the reason why BA had half-expected their Captain to be the one invading his space. Comic books, cartoons, video games, anything that would distract him from the real world for a time, when things got too much. Hannibal, on the other hand, preferred the time-honoured methods of drinking and smoking, usually in the form of fine whiskey and Cuban cigars, until his demons calmed enough to be reasoned with. 

For Face, it was nearly always physical activity of some kind, in an effort to outrun his own demons in whatever shape they took. BA had noticed very early in their friendship how Face got twitchy and could never sit still when he had something on his mind, and that usually translated into a long distance run or a truly epic weight training session in the gym, as Face turned his focus towards his body and away from his mind.

But each of them had to be flexible, coping however they could, and each of them knew how the others coped, too, making allowances where they could; BA knew he wasn’t the only observant one in their group, far from it. There would be no run for the Faceman today, and for whatever reason the weights room in Hannibal’s basement hadn’t appealed either, most likely due to the deep bruising Face had sustained during their last mission. BA kept half an ear out for the sound of his friend letting rip on the punching bag hanging in the corner of the garage – Face wasn’t the only one who cleared their head with physical activity, after all – but when the silence stretched from seconds into minutes, BA popped his head up out of the engine again, wondering if he should worry.

It had been a long and difficult mission, though they’d all survived worse over the years. Since they’d returned to the States for two weeks of downtime, Hannibal had been fussing non-stop over Face, and Face had been chafing under that fussing as well as under enforced medical rest, while Murdock had disappeared almost completely into his own world. BA had chosen to keep his head down, dealing with his own demons, and just being around for whatever became necessary. 

And it seemed he might be necessary right now in some way, his presence at least even if not his counsel.

To BA’s surprise, Face had settled down on the old sofa, pressing himself into one corner with both feet flat on the floor, his hands resting flat on his knees. He was just sitting there, breathing quietly. Steadily. His focus was clearly somewhere internal.

One of those days, then. For all his masks and performances and his larger-than-life character, Face got like this sometimes, introspective and calm, just like BA did. It took one to know one, after all.

So BA turned back to his work once more, quietly confident that Face would speak out if he needed to. He was equally confident that Face wouldn’t tinker with anything in his workshop – BA would never dream of leaving Murdock unsupervised, nor Hannibal for that matter, but Face would respect BA’s space. 

The garage may look disorganised but it was anything but. Face was equally good with his hands in many ways; BA could only watch in awe when Face created fake documents or compiled reports at the speed of light, and the instinctive skill with which the sharpshooter handled any and every weapon was a sheer joy to behold. But Face was no mechanic, no engineer, though he was a more than capable assistant when called on.

No, BA knew Face was safe where he was, even without knowing the exact reasons why he’d come here rather than retreating to the room he shared with Hannibal or seeking out Murdock’s company. BA could only assume that Face needed silence and solitude; with the rain growing heavier still and the storm growing closer, this was the closest he would get.

Time passed peacefully, and BA lost himself completely in the familiar motions as he cleaned and checked everything that could possibly need cleaning or checking in his baby. His few remaining demons settled and faded with each action, until eventually he tightened the last bolt with a deeply satisfied grunt and straightened up, feeling a warning twinge in his lower back as he did so. Definitely past time for a break.

He kept a well-stocked mini fridge tucked under one of the benches, and BA reached in to grab two chilled bottles of Bud, cracking the tops off before walking slowly around the van towards the sofa. Face hadn’t moved much, beyond dropping his head back into the worn cushions, and his eyes were locked on the ceiling, that familiar vivid blue every bit as stormy as the weather outside, though his features and his muscles were calm and relaxed.

BA held one bottle out to his brother, and after a long moment Face finally blinked back into focus enough to accept the beer with a half-smile, though he still didn’t make eye contact. BA stood there a moment, draining half his own bottle in one long, thirsty gulp, and just waited, watching, absorbing. 

Face’s eyes might be stormy but his body truly was relaxed; there was no hint of the pain BA had seen written large over his friend’s features during the conclusion of their mission or their long flight home, before they could get him into the hands of the waiting medics. It could have been so much worse, and they all knew just how lucky they’d been, but BA suspected those were the very thoughts tormenting Face’s too-quick brain right then.

And so he waiting, staying close but not too close, an open and obvious invitation in case Face needed one. BA couldn’t know for sure what was going on in his brother’s head, but he could offer a willing and non-judgemental ear, and he could offer a few words of advice, if Face needed either.

But Face managed a more solid smile and shook his head slightly, his focus still on the ceiling as well as somewhere deeply internal, and BA knew that was his cue. He moved away, back to his tools, finishing his own calming rituals of cleaning and packing away after his work, sweeping the floor before heading to the tiny sink to scrub the worst of the oil from his hands, pausing only to grab himself a second beer even though he could see Face was still nursing his first.

Then BA found himself hovering once again then, debating whether to sit by his friend or whether to leave him to his thoughts, when Face took the decision from him by pushing up to his feet and stretching briefly, hands raised to the ceiling with a hastily smothered wince and soft sigh that BA felt deep in his own soul. Then Face headed towards the door, as the thunder crashed overhead, and BA knew it was over, the demons vanquished for now.

As he passed BA, though, Face reached out and patted his shoulder, shooting him a tiny smile and a sideways glance, baby blue eyes much calmer now, less stormy. “Thanks, brother,” Face breathed, and BA nodded.

Face was gone before BA could even reply, “Any time.”


End file.
